


Relief in Waking

by keysburg



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Nightmares, Not Beta Read, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, mostly because I didn't want to make anyone read it, well a little comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 11:59:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11736597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keysburg/pseuds/keysburg
Summary: Still on the trail of Hugh Jones, Peggy and Daniel get exposed to a mysterious gas, nightmares ensue.  Partially inspired by @paeonia's last update to Quo Vadis? and the rest by my own recent rough nights.





	Relief in Waking

They had high hopes for the non-descript warehouse, set on the very edge of L.A.’s roughest industrial zone. It had been hard enough to find, purchased by an intermediary and owned by a shell corporation. In hindsight, the helicopter pad on the roof should have indicated that Hugh Jones had been using it to sneak in and out of L.A. After months of tedious research and a day of hasty planning to gather the necessary manpower, there should have been a payoff. They deserved one.

Instead, when Daniel and Peggy arrived with their team from the SSR, they found only dust. The offices had been cleaned out and the mini-apartment in the back had been stripped. All that was left was rich carpeting that still bore the marks of heavy furniture.

It didn’t take long to search the empty building. When it was clear there was nothing to be found, Daniel ordered his men back outside. He stopped next to Peggy where she stood on the open portion of the warehouse floor. Her hands were on her hips and she was frowning. 

She read his look without Daniel having to say anything. “I don’t know where to go from here,” she said.

He was about to make a joke about a bar or an early dinner, because he didn’t know either. Then when a hissing sound drifted down from the high ceiling overhead. Daniel looked up to see a tank hanging from the ceiling, expelling a foul-looking purple gas.

He glanced back at Peggy and they made instant eye contact. Then they both turned and ran for the door. 

“Close the door!” he yelled as soon as they were clear of the warehouse. “Seal all the doors and windows with whatever you have on hand!” Then he started coughing as his agents sprang into action.

* * *

Sealing off the warehouse went pretty quickly. Getting a team in there to build a clean room against the outerwall and cutting their way back into the warehouse took longer. They had to leave Agent Langdon in charge of it. Back at the office, they submitted themselves to lab to be poked and prodded and sampled to within an inch of their lives. 

The scientists didn’t find anything.

“I don’t what to tell you,” Jerry said. “You both have elevated blood pressure and heart rates, but it’s been a bad day. I can’t find anything else wrong. How do you feel?”

“Like something terrible is about to happen,” Peggy said. 

Daniel nodded. “I’m dreading something. I don’t know what.”

Jerry made a note. “Feeling of impending doom. Okay--that could just be anxiety as well. I’ll run the data by Dr. Samberly when he gets back from collecting samples--”

“Have a courier take a copy to Howard Stark, while you’re at it,” Peggy said. “In case he sees something you don’t.”

“Sure,” Jerry said. “Right now, I think you guys should just go home and relax. Hopefully we’ll have more information about the intended impacts after we analyze some samples.”

“What if we don’t?” Daniel asked.

“Oh. Well, there’s always a lung biopsy,” Jerry said. “Worst case scenario.”

Peggy shuddered. “We’ll keep our fingers crossed.” 

They were both feeling out-of-sorts enough that they did as suggested. They went home and did a few chores before eating a light dinner. Then, in light of their growing, sourceless disquiet, they went to bed early. There, at least, they had some measure of security from blankets and from each other.

* * *

Peggy watched Fred’s face twist up into something uglier than mere anger. 

“No wife of mine is going to risk herself like that,” he said, just as he had in real life. “You join the SOE, and we’re over.” His voice turned pleading. “We’re both serving already. Isn’t that enough?”

“Not for me,” she said. His reaction wasn’t entirely unexpected, but she had held out hope he would support her. His reaction galvanized her resolve. No wife of his? Maybe she didn’t want to be his wife after all. Dying a spinster was preferable to listening to that for decades. 

“I think you’re overreacting,” he said seriously. “I’m sorry about Michael, I really am, but it’s no reason to go haring off into danger. Not to mention throwing away our life together. Wouldn’t Michael want you to be happy?” 

“He wanted me to make my own decisions. Overreaction or not,” she said, “this is my decision. Throwing us into the bin is yours.” In real life she had left him then, not wanting to hear what he had to say next. He hadn’t tried to stop her. 

This time, he grabbed her by the arm.

“What are they telling you girls over at Bletchley, that you’re getting so full of yourselves? You really think you can face down the enemy by yourself, lie, and get away with it? You don’t have it in you.”

Peggy thought about her mother, crumbled in their driveway after the news of Michael’s death had been delivered. Peggy wasn’t afraid to die, but when she died--Fred was probably right-- _when_ she died, only her parents would mourn her. Things yet to come and people she was yet to lose flashed through her mind. Steve. Colleen. If she followed this path, she was going to be alone, and worse, she’d deserve it.

She was about to turn back to Fred, and tell him he was right, and ask forgiveness. He had vanished. She was already alone.

And then she woke up. 

The feeling that she was alone followed her into waking. She was curled at the edge of the bed, practically falling off it. The sound of Daniel’s deep breathing was the next thing she registered, and relief flooded through her. She turned slowly onto her back, looking over at him. He was sleeping on his stomach, his breathing slow and even. She reached out a hand to shake him awake, and then caught a glimpse of the clock over his shoulder. It wasn’t even midnight. 

Instead she settled for shifting closer to him, so she could feel the warmth of his body on the edge of the skin. She took a few deep breaths. She wasn’t alone.

* * *

Daniel watched in shock as half the bridge crumbled into the gorge. That wasn’t supposed to happen until they were back on the other side.

They had been strategically removing certain small crossings in the Alps for months. It was necessary to limit openings in the border to a more manageable number of defensible sites. Of course they wanted to be able to move people in, but they also wanted to monitor people coming over. Many were trying to escape occupied Germany; others were spies. 

It was difficult work, going up into the mountains, convincing the locals to reveal all the unmapped crossings. It was impossible to travel in a straight line from one to another. The rugged geography meant you had to go back downslope, into the foothills, or risk finding yourself on the edge of a mountain with nowhere to go. 

They had removed all kinds of bridges. Narrow stone ledges with ropes only to guide those that walked them. Strong wooden ones with parts intricately fitted together. Rope-and-plank contraptions that gave an excellent view of the chasms stretching hundreds or thousands of feet below.

This one had been a hybrid: a natural stone arch bridge that had lost it’s middle some time ago. The locals had bridged the gap in the stone with a wood overlay anchored on both ends. They were on the German side and drilled holes into the stone to place the dynamite. Apparently the rock was much weaker than it looked, because after the holes had been drilled it had just crumbled.

At least they had been on the far side, stringing together sticks of dynamite with the det cord. If they had done it standing on the bridge, they would have gone with it. The three of them were on solid ground. It just happened to be on the wrong side. 

The remaining members of their platoon gaped at them from the other side, their half of the bridge just gone.

They had radios but ended up communicating via gesture, just in case someone was listening. Sousa and his two men would go back down the mountain and head in the direction they came. It was better than 20 miles, as the crow flew, from there to the last bridge they left intact. God only knew how long it would be to the next crossing in the direction they had been traveling.

They headed down the slope. The idyllic, overgrown slopes of the mountain took on a more ominous feel as the sun slipped behind the peaks. The slopes were all covered with fast growing weeds and wildflowers that served to hide a thriving community of small--and not so small--mammals that rustled the foliage as they passed unseen. The tips of their weapons were constantly track movement they feared were army-crawling Germans, but were only rodents.

In real life they had a tense three-day hike, constantly on alert for hostile troops, taking catnaps in the trees. They only came across a single battalion of Germans, noisy enough to allow plenty of time to hide themselves before it came through. Sousa carefully counted the number of men as they went by.

In the dream, they were constantly pursued by shadow figures. Then an unseasonably early snow came on as they hike back up toward the summit towards a “safe” mountain pass. They made a snow cave between the roots of a gigantic tree, huddling together for warmth.

When Daniel awoke, his men had frozen solid. He had to leave them there, hiking for the summit alone. When he arrived, there was no one to greet him on the other side.

Daniel shook himself awake and realized he was chilled. He had apparently thrown the blanket off of himself. He let his eyes adjust before moving, and realized Peggy had tucked herself against him, her noise practically buried in his armpit. He slid the sheet and blanket slowly back over himself, careful not to wake her. He stared at the window until he fell asleep again. From the bed, could see the shadow of the orange tree against it in the moonlight. He was Southern California, half a world away from the Alps. He didn’t have to fear the snow.

* * *

She knew she’d be on her own when she was undercover, but she didn’t think it would be like this. Of course, nothing was expected these days. Peggy hadn’t anticipated getting loaned to MI6 to infiltrate Castle Kaufmann in the first place. It was sheer dumb luck that she happened to look a lot like one of the maids already working there. Even if the MI6 boys pretended they didn’t need SOE, it wouldn’t stop them from using their personnel when they needed a win.

Given the size of the castle and the number of servants there to keep Schmidt and his people happy, Peggy had expected to mislead the rest of the staff. The cook had been well compensated to get her in, but she had expected more attention from all the others. Instead they went about their daily tasks, heads down, not giving her a second glance. Peggy was left alone to observe all she could and wait for the right time to spring Erskine from his imprisonment. Being invisible was a great thing for a spy. 

That didn’t mean she liked it. Peggy hadn’t realized how these long missions were beginning to wear on her, and how she had hoped to at least overhear a little camaraderie between the other servants. Even the Nazi officers wear quiet and solemn in the wake of Schmidt’s failed experiment. She felt more like a ghost than a spy.

It was a good thing, she told herself firmly. It made it easier to drug the food, the whole castle falling under an even quieter spell. She’d get Erskine back to where he was going and get herself at least a short furlough. 

Things went mostly to plan, just as before, until she got Erskine unlocked from his chains. Instead of responding to her voice, he just kept begging for his family. She shook him, hard, and he looked right through her but finally realized he’d been freed. 

He walked right by her, ignoring her pleas, like he didn’t even hear her. She tried to get in front of him, and Erskine passed right through her. He managed to arm himself on the way, and marched straight into Schmidt’s room. There wasn't anything Peggy could do to stop him. 

She didn’t watch, but the snap of Erskine’s neck was loud enough to hear from the hall. As loud as the shots that had actually killed him, in Brooklyn lab--

The inconsistency between her nightmare and the events of reality jolted Peggy awake again. She reached for Daniel, but settled for laying her fingertips against his warm skin, rather than shaking him awake. She could feel. 

Maybe this was only anxiety or maybe this was part of the side effects of the gas, but Peggy didn’t want to go back to sleep. It happened against her will anyway.

* * *

He was back on the litter, and his leg hurt. That day in Bastogne someone had bandaged his leg and hit him with entirely too much morphine, but it didn’t happen that way now. The men with him ignored his leg, intent only on carrying his litter. It jostled and jumped and Daniel tried to speak, to tell them to bandage him up. With the pain he could feel his blood draining away, but words wouldn’t come. They carried him, and he fought to yell or move but he couldn’t. Slowly, he felt the blood and feeling and life drain away from all of his limbs. 

Daniel awoke on his back, his muscles still locked with sleep. It was odd, his brain being active but his body still not caught up. He consciously made himself relax, and felt it when his body came back under his voluntary control. Then his missing leg broke into pins and needles, and he sat up to massage his stump back into quiescence. Peggy was huffing a little in her sleep, but she didn’t wake, not even when he stretched back out on the bed. 

That had been a bad one. Concentrating on the his location wouldn’t help with this one. Instead he started doing multiplication tables in his head. He finally fell asleep somewhere in the thirteens.

* * *

Peggy stood at the radio controls, tears running down her cheeks as Steve told her his plan to crash the plane. This time, they didn’t make plans they knew they wouldn’t keep. 

“It wouldn’t have worked out anyway,” Steve said instead. “I’d hate for you to break--” 

The radio cut out. Peggy turned away from it. She’d get Stark out in another plane look for Steve’s crash, and meanwhile there were still Hydra goons to round up.

Except there weren’t. The entire hidden base had fallen completely silent around her. Peggy could tell she was the only one there. Where had they all gone? Had they left her?

She went to look, and her feet wouldn’t move.

This time Peggy came up out of sleep thrashing a little. She stopped when she recognized warm skin against her own. She was way over on Daniel’s side of the bed, and his good leg was thrown over hers, pinning them to the bed at the ankles. She was glad he was there but this was a little too close, his body radiating a near-stifling heat and sweat. Peggy slowly slid herself away from him, and out of their bed.

* * *

“Peggy!” Daniel cried as he watched her fall. It had been as quick as blinking, but this time her fall seemed to take forever. Getting over to kneel with her took even longer, as if he was wading through molasses. When Whitney Frost had dropped Peggy for real, he summoned help on the radio and the others arrived within minutes. It certainly hadn’t been pretty, lifting Peggy off that rebar and onto a plywood sheet to get her to the car.

This was worse. No answers came over his radio, no matter how many times he called. He pressed his useless handkerchief to her wound, and felt the blood pulse through it, covering his hand. 

He watched the light fade from her eyes.

Daniel wasn’t locked in sleep when he woke this time. Before he even realized he was awake he was reaching for Peggy. Her side of the bed was empty, sheets cool to the touch. 

Soft sounds from the kitchen reached him then, and he shook off the false grief. After a moment’s debate, he donned his prosthetic and robe and headed towards the sounds.

Morning was barely dawning in the kitchen where Peggy was rummaging in the cupboard. She winced when she saw him, and came out with both the coffee and the tea. 

By the time she had grabbed another mug, the kettle was ready.

“Did you have nightmares too?” Daniel asked, sitting at the kitchen table. 

Peggy shuddered. “So it _was_ the gas. Was that all it was supposed to do, do you think? Perhaps Jones was trying to buy himself a little more time.”

“No point in speculating. Maybe the lab guys will have something.” They were still fixing their beverages when the newspaper thumped on the front porch. Peggy went for it and came back already sorting the sections, handing him local and sports while she took the rest. 

They settled in, and slowly the lingering sense of discomfort dissipated.

Daniel was cooking breakfast when there was a knock at the door. It was Dr. Samberly, and he clearly hadn’t been to bed yet. 

It was just as well, as there were too many pancakes. Daniel slipped a couple more strips of bacon into the pan and got the kettle going again as Samberly told them what he knew.

“I’m not surprised you had nightmares,” he said. “I think the gas was a drug Roxxon created to get rid of them, but they went wrong somewhere. A larger dose, and you might have been down for days. I’m going to have to take some more blood and check you both out.”

“Not until after breakfast,” Daniel said firmly, handing the doctor a stack of plates and a pile of silverware. Samberly sighed his most put-upon sigh but quieted when he saw the pile of pancakes come out of the oven. 

“What would you have done if I didn’t answer the door?” Peggy asked.

“I’ve been practicing my lockpicking. I would’ve had to call for an ambulance.”

“Anyone else affected?” Daniel asked.

Samberly shook his head. “No one else got enough exposure, thank God. These pancakes are great, Chief. Think you can teach me how to make them?”

“As long as you don’t tell the others I might feed them too. We don't need regular morning visitors,” Daniel returned dryly.

“I still want to know why,” Peggy said. “Why drug us?”

“Oh!” Samberly said. “I forgot.” He pulled a long case out of his jacket pocket, and handed it to Peggy. “It’s been dusted and cleaned, so you can handle it.”

She frowned as she opened the box. Inside lay a very nice ladies' watch. She flipped it over and read from an inscription. “Until next time, Agent. H.J.” 

“Is that a Swiss watch?” Daniel asked. Samberly nodded.

“He’s just doing this to frustrate me now,” Peggy said. “Its working better than I’d like to admit.”

“Seems like a fair reaction to being drugged. It’s okay, we have someone in Switzerland,” Daniel reminded her.

“We do?” Samberly asked. “Can I come?”

**Author's Note:**

> Jack's in Switzerland. Maybe I will write that next.
> 
> SIS VS SOE:  
> The prequel comic featuring her Castle Kaufmann adventure has Peggy Carter name herself a member of British Intelligence, SIS aka MI6. The show has her recruited by SOE before SSR. MI6 was intelligence gathering, and mostly staffed by upperclass college types. SOE was a rag-tag agency that specialized in irregular warfare : organizing resistance in occupied country, targeting and destroy the enemy's resources. MI6 did not appreciate people literally blowing shit up in the middle of trying to collect information, thank you very much. The SOE meanwhile did everything they could to keep their activities secret from the posh jerks over at M16. 
> 
> It's unlikely Peggy would be recruited by SIS, which is probably why the show went with SOE. It's also more her skill set, and she'd be more likely to be dragged into the SSR from there. I think. Marvel's not internally consistent.


End file.
